


Hurt

by PansyDivision



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, No Spoilers, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PansyDivision/pseuds/PansyDivision
Summary: Sam's drugged and attacked. It takes a bit for it to all come back, but thankfully Dean is there to catch him when he falls.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65





	Hurt

It's only mid August but the concrete is cold under his hands. Probably due to the breeze blowing through the alleyway. What time is it? He can't see the moon. His head is spinning from the shots of rum he was doing a bit ago. Minutes? Hours? There's not even anyone around to ask. 

This isn't fun. He specifically went to a bar to have fun. Picked a nice one even. Tried to prove a point to Dean that we wasn't a total loser. Dean hadn't come with. Said he'd believe Sam if he didn't come home that night; in which case he would assume his little brother had proudly went home with someone. How could he prove shit if he couldn't even remember the last few hours? Although, he supposed, that could be proof enough.

Suddenly he finds himself with his back against the brick wall of the bar. He can feel it on his bare back somehow. Confusedly, he pats around his back finding his shirt is torn.

"What the fuck?" he says to himself, but his voice is hoarse. 

It occurs to him that he should probably find his way back to the Motel 6 they were currently staying at before his night out becomes a missing persons case. He pats his pockets down, and finds nothing. No phone, no wallet, not even loose change. Heart beginning to pound, he checks more thoroughly, but to no avail. When he stands up, he's hit with another dizzy spell and takes to holding himself up by the wall. His head aches and his chest burns. 

Sam has had panic attacks before and he knows how to stop them before they get too bad. So there he is, leaned against a bar in the middle of Minnesota doing breathing exercises without a god damn clue what's going on. He can tell he's still drunk, so at the very least he knows it's likely not past 4 AM. 

Once he's generally got himself together he begins a precarious walk to the nearest door. He pulls, it's open. Walking up to the bar and asking for a cab is a complete blur. He only vaguely knows what he's doing when he gets in the back seat of the annoyingly pink taxi. Someone hands him a $10 bill for the ride and he thanks them. Or at least he's pretty sure he did. Their face is soft and concerned. He must be more drunk than he thought. 

Even with his fucked up perception of time, it's only a couple of minutes before they reach the motel. He gives the $10 to the driver and doesn't bother waiting for change. When Dean answers the door, his eyes are drooping and he was clearly asleep moments before.

"Dude, you really had to wake me up? Where the fuck are your keys?" 

His older brother isn't really angry. It's their usual banter, but Sam still pushes past him. He barely makes it to the bed when he passes out.

\-----

He wakes to silence except for the birds outside. The first thing he registers is the pain throughout his entire body. It feels like he'd just done an intense workout and pulled at least one muscle in each of his limbs. Dean is sitting in his own bed, clicking away at something that Sam has no interest in.

"This has to be the worst hangover in the history of ever," Sam attempts to say into his pillow, but again it comes out like there's something caught in his throat.

to

Dean is immediately up and at his side, "Are you sure you aren't getting sick?"

He rolls onto his back to try to get more comfortable, grunting in pain as he goes.

"Holy shit, Sam, what did you do?"

His hand reaches out to lift his chin up and touch his neck. A dark purple bruise is speckled along his neck. Instinctually, Sam slaps it away. 

Something hits him. His stomach turns and he can feel phantom hands on his neck. _Oh god_ , he thinks to himself. If he opens his mouth now, he'll be sick. Despite the shooting pains, he scrambles out of bed and struggles to stay upright on his way to the bathroom. What's left of his stomach contents is emptied straight into the toilet, which is mostly bile and alcohol. Dean is right behind him, hand on his back to offer some sort of comfort.

"Please," Sam whispers. "Don't."

Not fast enough, the hand is gone. Blurry memories start to come back to him. Hands on his back, hands on his wrists, hands on his hips. His stomach convulses until there's nothing left. 

"What can I do?" Dean asks, with an uncharacteristic amount of fear in his voice.

He asks for water and seconds later there's a glass of cold tap water being forced into his hand. Neither of them say anything while the youngest takes gentle sips out of the shaking glass. His entire body shakes. He doesn't have all of the memories, doesn't have all the pieces. But he knows anyway, he knows what happened last night and he is so afraid. There's no threat, no fatal injuries done to him, but he shakes anyway. His heart races and he hugs his knees to his chest.

"Talk to me, Sam."  
He simply shakes his head. There's nothing to say. He can't even imagine saying those words out loud to his older brother. It doesn't take a genuis to put together the events that will ensue. Dean will undoubtedly leave, begin his hunt. A hunt that will only end in a death that Sam does not currently want on his hands. He can only handle so much at once and he needs his brother here to do it. There's nobody other than Dean to help him even if he wanted anyone else. 

Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes go by and not a word is spoken. The glass of water is empty, and admittedly Sam's stomach has begun to feel better. It still lurches when he thinks too hard about the previous night, but he's mostly been staring at the eggshell colored wall thinking who the hell thinks this color is appealing. 

Finally, he decides to speak. "I don't-" he pauses. Dean perks up instantly, eyes wide and ready for answers. At least he knows he's listening. "Don't leave. Please."

"I won't, I wouldn't even dream of it," he scooches closer on the bathroom tiles without thinking. Sam flinches slightly, out of fear. Not of Dean, but of physical touch. It stops Dean right where he's at, only just realizing he probably shouldn't make quick movements like that.

"It hurts, De," he says in the smallest voice a 25 year old can possibly make. Tears prick his eyes, but his face remains stone cold.

"I can grab the pills from the duffel?" Dean says a little too quickly.

It only takes a small nod from Sam for him to get up slowly and go to grab them. In the ten seconds he's gone, Sam readjusts to sit with his back against the tub. The cool surface is grounding, reminding him of the concrete outside of the bar. An easy focus point. 

His glass is full of water again and he carefully swallows the pills he's given, noting the soreness of his throat as he does so.

"I don't remember much," Sam decides it's time to talk. Dean is not the patient type, especially when it comes to his little brother. "I can feel... hands."

Dean hasn't blinked in a full minute, but Sam's gaze has been too trained on the patterns in the floor tiles to notice. 

"What happened?" Dean finally dares to ask again.

"I think I was, um," he swallowed and tries to white out the next word from his brain. "raped?" He laughed dryly and moved his hands to push his hair out of his face. He can feel that his body desperately wants the release of wracking sobs. Instead he holds it in, he can't do that here. Not now and not in front of Dean. His face is hot with shame and recalls the day that they met a young woman who'd been raped by a demon they were hunting. She was inconsolable, her body was covered in marks. Near the end of their conversation with her, her sobs were bordering on screams. It's unthinkable to Sam that he now knows this pain, that he knows how vulnerable and violated she once felt. It's like nothing he does could possibly help this feeling. His chest hurts simply from the emotional toll this is suddenly taking on him. No matter how much he curls in on himself, he's exposed.

Dean's initially unresponsive. His mouth moves to say something but nothing comes out. They've both been through some pretty awful things in their life time. Death, injury, bullying, hell but this? This can't even be considered character development. Dean's silent but his prayers are those of hatred. He promises to kill the god that would do this to his brother. As if they hadn't both been through enough.

"I'm sorry," Sam says. "I think he drugged me."

"No, Sam, don't be sorry," Dean says surely. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you."

Like he hadn't heard him, Sam continues, "I should have watched my drink. I'm a hunter, I know how to be careful."

"Sam," he says firmly this time.

His head snaps up to look him in the eyes. They're welled up with tears. The last time Dean could recall seeing this much pain in his brother's face was right after Jessica died. Only, this is different. This is fearful and painful. Dean can only remember his look of rage and sorrow. The new mix breaks Dean's heart and he can feel himself want to give in and cry. But he can't. Instead, he'll be the strong one. He has to be, and he always has been. This is a role he's good at.

"This was not your fault," Dean states, but whether Sam believes it or not can be dealt with later. "We're going to get through this, okay?"

Sam simply looks away, unable to maintain eye contact. His body and mind are so tired that he knows he could fall asleep on this floor if his brother would let him. "I can't."

He can feel himself start to fall apart, piece by piece. He dreads the memories that he doesn't have yet, that he knows he will be forced to deal with in the coming days. The drugged up haze will clear and it will all come into view. His mind zips through the memories he has uncontrollably. New ones wiggle their way through every time it plays back, like a broken record.

"Sam?" Dean sounds more worried than he ever has.

Sam's head is cradled in his own hands, his breath starting to come fast and shallow. Hands worm their way down his chest, rip at his clothing, press on his neck until he's clawing at the man's hand, digging for air. The beginnings of the flashback are harsh and bright. He can feel himself be pulled to the ground, feel the man's hands work there way inside of him. The drugs kept him from speaking, screaming, or moving in any sort of helpful way. He could only groan at the violation of the man's fingers and eventually his dick. Nobody came to help him.

When he begins to come back to reality, his face is covered in tears. He's backed himself into the corner of the bathroom. Dean hands are holding his own, squeezing them hard enough to bring him out of his flashback, but not hard enough to hurt.

"God, Dean," Sam gasps. "I can't- He's all over me- His hands-"

In the next couple minutes, Dean has turned the shower on to the boiling hot temperature he knows Sam likes and plopped his brother down under the gentle spray. Dean sits on the edge of the tub, feet carelessly placed under the water. Slowly but surely, Sam's breathing returns to normal. This is one of the weirdest situations they've ever found themselves in, but Dean will be damned if he mentions it.

Not caring how ridiculous it is that he's in his mid twenties and wants to hold his brother's hand, Sam reaches up for it and holds tightly. He's not sure how he would have handled this by himself, he'd probably be crying himself into a panic hidden under the bed sheets.

"Thanks," he says quitely.

He receives a squeeze of his hand in return. While Sam contemplates how he's going to be okay, Dean daydreams of the pain he's going to inflict on Sam's rapist.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what ya think!


End file.
